


The Huntzberger Revival

by electricsymphony



Series: Sometime Around Midnight [2]
Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: But Rory's Idealism Knows No Bounds, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Name Traditions, I May Or May Not Be Currently Drafting A Multi-Chapter Prequel To This, Logan's Family Sucks, Post-S7 au, Pregnancy, Ssh it's a secret, attempted humor, honestly though this is quite disgustingly fluffy so be warned, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 20:35:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7479048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricsymphony/pseuds/electricsymphony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Rory fretting over their impending tenure as parents to their new baby girl, Logan begins to question a very conventional tradition and is thoroughly shocked when Rory offers a (very convincing) argument. Rogan. AU to any specific GG timeline. Rated T 'cause pregnant Rory swears a lot and Logan can't keep his hands to himself. Transferred from fanfiction.net.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Huntzberger Revival

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes** : My mom and I are re-watching Season 7. It's a painful process-we're both big JavaJunkie fans-and the show just wasn't written as well in S7, but we're still having fun seeing things we forgot about. We ended up in a discussion about whether Rory would have ever married Logan had it not been under the circumstance it was under in the show. I argued that she would, of course, being a Rogan fan. My mom disagreed for one reason: She said that no matter how much Rory loved Logan, Rory would never become a part of Logan's family. She insisted that when you marry someone, you marry their family, and that Rory would never willingly marry the Huntzbergers. I argued that Rory is idealistic as shit and thinks she can do anything, including being a Huntzberger without being a Huntzberger. She conceded that I had a point there. Anyway... (If you have opinions on this discussion topic, feel free to leave them in the reviews. I'd be interested to hear them.)
> 
> Point is, I went on a drive and starting thinking about Rory and her opinions on the Huntzberger family and the Huntzberger name. That's how this story came to be.
> 
> Enjoy. :)
> 
>  **Disclaimer** : 'Gilmore Girls', its characters, plot lines and premise belong to Amy Sherman-Palladino, Warner Brothers and their affiliates. I do not own anything detailed in this story, and I make no monetary profit by these writings. All rights reserved to respective parties.

_'What if I can't even make **one**? What if all twenty-two shots are misses? If she wants to be an English major, well then… we're all set. We can drill into her grammar and punctuation until she's blue in the face. And what are the chances she's going to **want** to be a basketball star anyway? Because, really… I can't throw a ball to save my life, let alone get it through the microscopic hole in a basketball hoop and this baby will have my genes, so there's a very miniscule chance she's going to want to play any sport at all._

_So, no sports. That's good. What if her **friends** play sports? What if while she's memorizing the indents of her cursive letters all of her classmates are playing dodgeball—oh god, what if she gets kicked in the face with a dodgeball and suffers severe brain damage? She could lose her eye-sight… she could end up in a wheelchair for the rest of her life, we could have to feed her through a tube and she wouldn't even be able to hold a pencil between her two fingers, let alone write cursive._

_What if we push too hard too early for her to learn proper English and she ends up resenting us and the entire education system in general and turns into a pot-smoking hippy degenerate who defaces public property with phallic symbols and spray painted mustaches inscribed on prominent members of Congress?_

_What if she hates politics? What if she thinks my articles are propaganda crap? What if she never takes an interest in reading them?_

_Do we want her to go to private school? I mean, private school can be filled with a bunch of asshole douchebags, but we definitely want her to have the best education. What if Shira insists on it? Well, she can shove her fucked up, high-end, snotty Mayflower opinions up her ass, dammit, because she's **my** daughter. And Logan's daughter. And no one else's._

_But if she goes to private school… what if all the other mothers are Shira clones? They'll likely be, wont they? I'll have nothing in common with those bitches. Oh God, do I have to join a booster club? What the hell **is** a booster club? Or be on a bunch of school function committees… I don't have time to be on committees. Does that mean I don't have time for my daughter? Will she want me to be on committees? Will she be embarrassed if I'm not? I don't want to be that kind of mother… I'm not Shira, I want to be involved—I **need** to be involved.'_

A gentle voice edged through the corners of her consciousness… "Ace?"

_'What if I can't stop Shira from being involved? What if our daughter actually likes Shira and lets her pick out her first prom dress? Her first car? Her first **husband**?_

_Gilmore, that's ridiculous. Your daughter isn't going to have more than one husband. She's not Miss Patty.'_

She could feel someone sit down next to her, an arm draped around her shoulder… "Ace, what's wrong?

_'But what if she wants to be an actress instead of a basketball player? A dancer? A **pole** dancer? What if she sits around on her sixtieth birthday reminiscing about all the love scenes she's done and all the penises she's seen…'_

"Rory!"

"If Milton Berle shows his face or whips out his penis within a thirty mile radius of our daughter—no, a fifty mile radius—I'll tar and feather his ass so thoroughly he'll look like the fucking stuffed turkey centerpiece on Thanksgiving!"

Logan's face was utterly blank, staring at her in confusion. "Milton Berle is dead."

"That's entirely irrelevant," Rory rebuffed, her arms crossed over her chest in a perfect display of four year old petulance; "I'll kill him a second time, and this time, he won't go peacefully."

"He died of colon cancer."

Rory glared at him, daring him to contest her authority—"I don't care how he died, my point still stands—I'll slaughter him and cut off his balls if our daughter ever accidentally sneaks a peek at his penis."

Logan couldn't help the chuckle that burst forth, "Well, since Milton Berle is six feet under, that seems unlikely… but y'know, she is likely to see _someone's_ penis eventually…"

"Don't say that!" Rory snapped, whacking him on the shoulder. "I refuse to let my daughter be persuaded into acts of sexual deviance by the size of some evil man's penis."

"So our daughter's going to be a lesbian?" Logan grinned; provoking Rory like this was way too much fun.

"Don't you dare be funny right now, our daughter is going to grow up hating us because we didn't teach her how to play basketball!"

Logan threaded his fingers through the hairline on the nape of her neck, massaging her scalp into a more relaxed state until she finally let out the breath she'd been holding for her entire internal rant. "Ace?"

"Mhm?" She responded drearily, her eyelids fluttering closed.

"Why is the television paused on Obama's face?" He prodded with a teasing lilt to his voice and a smirk on his lips; "Should I be a man worried about my wife's wandering affections?"

Rory finally looked back up at the television, the C-Span viewing of the White House Correspondents Dinner that she'd been watching only a few minutes earlier paused on the little half-smirk forming on Barack Obama's lips. She looked down sheepishly, avoiding Logan's line of sight and admitted, "He made a joke about basketball. It got me worrying about whether our daughter might want to play basketball. Neither of us could teach her, and I don't think we know anyone with a hidden sports talent. Luke!" She exclaimed loudly, as though she'd experienced a life epiphany, "I think he ran track in high school and he's most likely thrown a ball before!"

"Oh, he's thrown a ball before, has he?" Logan inquired cheekily. Rory didn't seem to notice the wry smile on her husband's face or the sarcasm in his tone. "There you go then, babe, we've got Luke. He's a regular LeBron James, he'll help out."

Rory scrunched her nose in confusion. "He's a regular _who_?"

Brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, Logan dismissed, "I'd bet my life's savings you'll never be required to know."

Hesitantly, Rory inquired, "So you don't think our daughter is going to want to be a basketball star?"

"Basketball?" Logan reiterated, a faux-thoughtful smile gracing his lips, "Nah—I think she'll be more of a hockey girl."

"Hockey?!" Rory gasped in horror, "That's worse, Logan! Isn't that just glorified boxing?"

Logan, a born and bred New York Rangers fan let that completely untrue dig about his favorite sport slide, knowing better than to instigate an argument with his pregnant wife about something as inane as sports. "I'm kidding, Ror, relax. She's our daughter; she'll have no hand eye coordination whatsoever. We've got nothing to worry about," he reassured her gently.

"Well, that's a relief," Rory smiled up at him. "Hi," she greeted suddenly and captured his lips in a smooth caress, neither chaste nor passionate, but lying somewhere within the spectrum of lazy affection.

"Hello to you too, crazy woman," he teased, smiling into her kiss. With a hearty laugh, he continued, "I have to admit, I can't seem to connect the dots between basketball and Milton Berle's penis. I think there's got to be more than seven degrees of separation in that train of thought."

"Your mother…" Rory growled low under her breath. "She's going to interfere in our daughter's life—buy her a prom dress, a car, a beach house, a trust fund, a husband…"

"My mother is going to _purchase_ Milton Berle as our daughter's betrothed?" Logan inquired, thoroughly amused. A sly smirk on his lips, he joked, "I knew my mother was capable of astonishing feats, but raising the dead… that's one I never considered."

"You're goddamn impossible," she sighed; "I'm pregnant, I'm not supposed to make sense."

"So what was your excuse before getting knocked up?"

"Fuck you, Huntzberger," Rory responded indignantly. "I don't need you, anyway; Barack will be a much more suitable replacement father for our daughter."

"Speaking of…" Logan started, taking Rory's hands in his own, "I think we should talk about something pretty important."

"Oh?" The glazed over look in Rory's eyes finally subsided and she gave him her undivided attention; even pregnant, Rory could sense Logan's shift from playful to serious like a determined greyhound.

"I know we only found out that it's a girl this morning—" Rory opened her mouth to interrupt but Logan cut her off smoothly, "And before you ask for the ninth time, yes, I'm thrilled we're having a girl. I couldn't imagine anything more adorable than a little mini-Ace running around with those piercing baby blues, I'll be the worst disciplinarian ever. She could just give me those puppy dog eyes and I'll melt into submission… On second thought, I hope she gets my eyes."

"Logan, you're rambling," Rory teased playfully.

"Learned from the best," he smiled fondly. "Anyway," his tone adopted a serious expression, "I want to discuss the possibility of our kids having your name."

"You…" Rory was baffled. She hadn't even considered that Logan might feel this way. "You want our kids to be Gilmore's?"

Logan nodded, a sober expression on his face. He'd thought long and hard about this, and decided it was for the best. The Huntzberger name had caused him a lot of trauma and stress over the course of his life, and he wouldn't inflict that kind of pain on his worst enemy, let alone his kids. "The Huntzberger name… Ror, it represents a lot of terrible things. It denotes oppression, snobbery, privilege… my parents…" he sighed as he ran a stressed hand through his mussed hair, "Everything we don't want to model for our kids. I don't want them to carry the burden of the Huntzberger curse… it'll expect things from them, _people_ will expect things of them. If my daughter's happiness stems from being a hacky-sack playing hippy taking ceramics classes in community college, I want her to feel secure in the fact that nobody is going to care."

Rory digested all of this, noting the frown of concern and stress on Logan's face as he relayed his fears and worries to her. "I get it," she soothed him, "I really do, you had a bad experience with the Huntzberger name. You have every right to hate the name—"

"Rory, don't even try to debate me on this," he spat out bitterly, "You hate the name too, remember? Even with my mother pressuring you, you adamantly refused to take my name because of your experiences with it."

"Whoa, hold on a sec," Rory tried to calm the conversation down a bit; "That circumstance was a bit different, first off. I explained it to you; I explained that taking your name felt like submitting to the image of your parent's ideal version of me, the trophy wife that I was never going to be. You understood that, you backed me up."

"I know I backed you up, which is why I'm surprised you're not backing me up on this now."

Rory furrowed her brows. "How do you know I'm not backing you up?"

"I can you read your tones of voice like a book, Ace—don't even deny you were about to come up with a rebuttal," Logan dismissed, narrowing his eyes. "It's my last name, it's my decision."

Rory glared, affronted. "Hey, it's _our_ kids; it's not just your decision!"

"Fine then," Logan conceded, a snarl on his lips; "What's your big argument for naming our kids after the worst family in history?"

His wife looked almost defeated—something he very rarely saw, if ever—and he almost took back his words until she spoke; clear, confident and full of conviction—"Your family produced two of the most wonderful people I know, so I find it hard to believe that it's the worst family to ever grace the earth." A pensive expression in her sad smile, she continued, "Are you meaning to tell me that besides Honor, there's never been anyone in your family who's been remotely bearable?"

"You'd better fucking believe it," Logan asserted powerfully without really thinking about it. His expression turned sour immediately after the words came out of his mouth though, and he amended, "Well…"

"I knew it!" Rory cried triumphantly, "I knew there had to be some good influence in that family for you and Honor to turn out so well." With a shadow of youthful exuberance on her glowing smile and her hands cradling her knees, she asked excitedly, "Well, who is it? C'mon, don't keep me in suspense—tell me about them."

Logan's sorrowful frown became a wistful smile as he reminisced—"My Aunt Catherine; she was my father's younger half-sister. My father always detested her but she was my grandfather's little angel, so my dad only talked bad about her in private. She was…" a fond smile graced his lips and he laughed, "Crazy. Undeniably, unabashedly crazy. She wasn't a Brigader—she went to Trinity—but I've never known anyone, not even Finn, that embraced the term 'In Omnia Paratus' like a lifestyle. But she was so much more than that—she was eerily intuitive, she gave the best advice. I swear she knew your thoughts before you did. An eternal idealist, she never thought there was a problem you couldn't fix. But more than anything, she was the most compassionate person I've ever known, next to you."

This was the side of Logan that Rory loved the most; she loved all facets of Logan, even the crazy, borderline suicidal daredevil side, but when he talked about someone he truly cared for, his eyes shined with deep, genuine warmth and his wistful smile was the one that made her weak at the knees. Unlike most women in the world, Rory Gilmore wasn't seduced by Logan Huntzberger when he was in all-out flirtatious mode; in fact, she was the most turned on by him when romance and sex were the furthest thing from his mind.

Before she could even inquire the unasked question, Logan answered, "She died when I was fourteen. Ovarian cancer."

"That's…" Rory felt a little prickle of tears in her eyes, and she reached for his hand, "I'm so sorry, Logan; she sounds amazing."

"She was," he assented; "She was more of a mother to me than my own mother could ever claim to be."

"Now," she began slowly, a slight trepidation to her voice, "Just give me a chance to explain my reasoning, okay? I…" she blushed a little under his intense stare, but continued, her voice strong, "The Huntzberger name has stood for a lot of bad things in the past. But it's also stood for some great things—you, Honor, your Aunt Catherine. Granted, those good things have mostly been overshadowed by the horrible reputation, but as I imagine your Aunt Catherine would say if she were here—and something I happen to adamantly agree with it—is that 'There's no problem you can't fix.' The Huntzberger name isn't a curse, Logan, despite what you think. It's not dead; it's just broken. And we, the both of us, right now, with this little fetus in my stomach, have a unique opportunity to fix it. It doesn't matter what the name itself will model for them, Logan, _we_ are their parents. Whatever we model ourselves will overshadow that a thousand times over; and we can model something good for a new generation of Huntzbergers. If we can achieve that, why wouldn't we?"

Logan smiled; the gleam of excitement in her eyes was infectious, but he still had his reservations. At this point, he didn't know who was more idealistic; Rory or his Aunt Catherine.

"C'mon Logan, think about it. We have the opportunity to rein in a whole new Huntzberger Dynasty, one full of people that can one day be proud to be associated with your name instead of ashamed. We can re-brand the entire Huntzberger name with our new family; it'll be like giving life support to an old, failing heart on the brink of collapsing; the name needs us, Logan. The name needs a chance to be great, it _deserves_ a chance to be great. The Huntzberger Revival, if you will."

When Logan didn't respond, she prodded just that bit further, "Do what your Aunt Catherine would do, Logan. _Fix_ the Huntzberger name, don't just pull the plug on its life support when it needs us the most."

With the infectious gleam of excitement in her baby blue eyes to the warm embrace of her hands clasped in his down to the adorable bunny slippers on her feet, Logan could've sworn at this moment that it was possible to fall in love twice.

"So…" he gestured to the television, "Are you going to un-pause so we can watch your political sex fantasy address the nation?"

"Does that mean you agree to name our kids after you and not me?" She asked cautiously.

"Just turn it on," Logan grumbled in defeat.

"Yes!" Rory actually pumped her fist in the air in an exaggerated show of victory; "That means I won. You lose, debate over. Gilmore creams the competition, again." Soon after, his earlier comment dawned on her; "Hey now, Barack Obama is the fearless leader of this country, he's not my political sex fantasy," she dismissed, blushing slightly.

"He can't be both?" Logan elbowed her with cheeky humor.

"Nope, 'cause there's no room for politics in my sex fantasies; I write about politics enough in my real life. Besides, in my sex fantasies there's no room for anyone but a very powerful blonde media entrepreneur who happens to be of the famous Huntzberger clan." Tilting her head curiously, she inquired, "Have you heard about them? I hear they're going through a re-branding… it's been all over the news."

"You've gotten too cocky for your own good," he chastised playfully.

She smirked, eerily reminiscent of the one often gracing his lips. "It's all the time spent in your air space. All this recent business success has inflated your ego even more, and there was no extra space in your cranium for it to go, so it got injected into mine instead."

"Un-pause the television, Ace. I want to take pointers from Barack so I know how best to please you," he teased with a sly smile.

Rory rolled her eyes and un-paused, leaning her head into the crook of his neck to inhale his rich, unique scent as she relaxed into embrace. His fingers were threading through her hair again when suddenly, she sat straight up and whispered, "Catherine."

"Yeah," Logan said slowly, "My Aunt—we went over this."

Rory was beaming now, looking at Logan with a triumphant smile he knew meant an ingenious idea had just sparked in that pretty little head of hers. "No; Catherine, _our daughter_."

Logan's throat nearly constricted at the idea; he was speechless. He managed a hoarse, "What?"

"It's perfect, Logan—she's the inspiration behind re-branding the Huntzberger name, she means a lot to you, she sounds like the perfect blend of me and you; who better to name our daughter after?"

Logan still had his tongue lodged exactly where his vocal chords should be, and she continued, her tone wry, "Would you rather take my mom's suggestion for a girl and name her Edina-Patsy or Colin's ridiculous suggestion of naming our potential daughter after Carmen Electra?"

"It is," Logan conceded, his voice hoarse and emotional; "It's… _perfect_."

"Then it's decided; Ca—" but before she could even get the second syllable out, Logan interrupted as if she'd never started.

"Lorelai Catherine Huntzberger," he announced with a fondness in his voice.

It took a moment for Rory to register what he said. "Lorelai?" She asked, bemused and incredulous.

He laughed out loud at her baffled expression. "Aw, c'mon Ace, don't even deny that it would mean the world to you to continue your mother's tradition. If we're going to name our daughter after my favorite Huntzberger, we're going to have to match it with your favorite Gilmore."

Rory couldn't help the smile that spread across her face; "But we have to call her Catherine; oh, Cat! Cat Huntzberger. I love it, it's snappy," she proclaimed in delight.

"Don't you think there's someone else who might want to have some input into our daughter's nickname?"

"Who's that?"

Logan faked thoughtfulness—"Oh, I don't know—our _daughter_ , maybe."

Rory threw her head back in a roguish laugh. "She'll zip her pretty little trap and listen to her omniscient, experienced mother if the girl knows what's best for her."

Logan repositioned them so Rory was straddling his lap and he kissed her, long, deep, hard—all the love, passion and affection he felt for this amazing woman expressed in the fervent clashing of his teeth against hers.

"Have I ever told you how much I love pregnant Rory?"

"Oh?" Rory raised her eyebrow. "Is she different from regular Rory?"

"Oh yeah," Logan nodded with a wry smile; "Very different. She's belligerent, violent and a hundred times bossier and more stubborn than she usually is. Not to mention she's always horny as hell and swears like a sailor."

Rory puckered her lips. "She sounds like a real pain in the ass."

"Oh trust me, sweetheart: _She is_ ," and he evaded the incoming attack of her arm attempting to whack him upside the head and instead grabbed hold of her thigh and pulled her chest flush against him, clutching her hands in his own. "I don't know what I'll do when pregnant Rory goes away," he frowned.

"Guess you'll just have to knock her up again," Rory suggested with a devilish grin.

He pointed to her accusingly—"See, what'd I tell you; horny as hell."

And when she pulled back from his passionate kisses, she whispered to herself, "Lorelai Catherine Huntzberger," with a bright, satisfied smile on her face.

Logan's amused voice cut through her dreamy musings like a slice. "Ace, please don't mention our daughter's name when I've got a boner. That's worse than mentioning my mother."

Rory just laughed. But she couldn't get his words out of her head—' _Our daughter's name_.'

She beamed, looked down at her stomach and back at Logan.

 _Perfect_.

*****

And even later the next day, when they were both out to dinner with their families and closest friends where they announced the name of their baby girl and Finn grinned as wide as a shark—which did nothing but exacerbate Rory's pregnancy nausea—she _still_ thought the name was perfect. And even after Finn congratulated them on brilliantly naming their daughter after the Queen—("The Queen, love; Hepburn… the original fiery redhead.")—Rory still thought the name was perfect.

It didn't, however, stop her from telepathically sending Cat her first ever words of motherly parenting, sitting on the edge of their bed later that night with their silk sheets bunched up at her thighs while she watched Logan sleep—

_('Cat, my darling sweetheart, the orange-sized fetus that you are, I can promise you this: If, by chance, you inherit your great-grandma's red hair, we're shipping you off to boarding school all year-round in Alaska where the sunlight stays out for hours—trust me, baby, it's for your own good.')_

 

**Author's Note:**

>  **Notes** : I smiled so very much while writing/reading this. I hope you did too. :D
> 
> Thank you for reading, and please leave a review if you enjoyed, have comments, suggestions or constructive criticism. :)


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